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1 



APRIL 

IN MEMORY OF j 

FOURTEENTH, a. d. mdccclxv. 

HALLOWED BE THE DAY, FOREVER ! 

















The rounded Year returns again, 


The unforgetful Earth repeats her change 
Beyond the vernal angle, and the strange 
Wild tumults of the spring, 

’Mid showers and sunlight, bring 
Anew the year-old loss, the Fate that thrilled us then 

l^eturn thou, purifying Grief! 

The vernal Truth within our thought renew ! 
It withers hieath the clouds whose wintry hue 
O’ercasts our civil strife. 

()nce more into our life 

Inbreathe our fallen Leader’s,—give us his Belief! 


April, 186G. 






DE PEOFUA^niS 


P LOR AT POP ULUS PRAESIDEM. 


Almighty ! to thy Pity infinite, 

From out the darkness of my loss I cry, 

The Nation of the People, lone amid 
The multitude of nations. After Thee, 

Through this long century, I grope. 0 Lord! 

Through doubt, through quarrel, through temptation sore. 
Full oft not pure of sin, from fealty 



f) ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Too often falling, still I struggle on 

With hands, knees, yea, with sword, to scale the steeps 

O’er which Thou drawest me. And here, at length. 

Halting, I soothe my weariness in light 

Which seems from Thee,—one moment rest in hope 

That in my being at last I bear Thy truth,— 

When lo ! from closest heaven Thy thunderbolt 
Flames on my Strongest, and Thy face is hid. 

Wherefore, 0 Lord of Sorrows, all my help 
In this my sorrow buried is with Thee. 

But, 0 to faith forever Risen, rise 
Within, and quicken me with thy living Self ! 

Here on the mountain-top I faint. Thy might 
Is heavy on me, and I sink beneath 
Thy terrors. Utterly forsake me not. 


A BRA IIA M LINCOLN. 


7 


God of all Law and Truth and Liberty ! 

In faith I bow to Thee, yet Thou forgive 
The frailness of my nature, if not formed 
Of substance quite impassible, I pay 
The debt my nature will not cede, and grieve 
Beneath Thy chastisement. Yea, let me mourn. 
And with my adoration mingle tears, 

So that I do Thy wisdom no despite. 

Nor fret at Thy dread counsels. Break, 0 heart! 
Break with thy hundred-gated sorrow ! Break ! 
And in thy floods give course to thousand hearts 
Of men and women, one in me, who mourn 
For the Great Soul that is withdrawn from us. 

So let my grief have utterance, 0 God ! 
.Let me find voice, not to complain of Thee, 


8 


ABRAIIAM LINCOLN. 


But to disclose my sorrow to myself, 

And win relief from knowledge of the woe 
Whose riddle dark confounds me, passing all 
Passion of dole Thou hast ordained for men. 

Mourn then at will, my heart! and with thee mourn 
All things that know the mystery of grief I 

You, you, 0 mighty cannon ! that have felt 
The pang of change from pulses throbbing death. 

And mad with victory, to sad salute 
That beats the sullen air for heroes dead, 

Your awful chorus soften, and with slow. 

Deep thunders, usher in his requiem. 

Who bade vou flame for Truth, but bids no more. 


. 1 lilL 1 IIA M LINCOLN. 


And you, O bells I that know the tearful lapse 
From chime at Christmas, or at Easter morn, 

To mournful passing-knell all tremulous 
Over the young who die before their day, 

Give forth your voices this sad Easter-time, 

And toll for him who bade you ring for Right 
Victorious, but shall bid you nevermore. 

0 solemn-moving music, breathing low ! 

Thou soul of that mysterious sadness hid 
Within the secret heart of every joy. 

Thou, too, bewail him. All my woe attune 
To rhythmic motion, suited to his bier 
Who summoned thee to hymn of Liberty— 

Who summoned, but shall summon now no more. 


10 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


Come, heart, and be memorial. While with pomp 
Of loving sadness, ’mid the mingled voice 
Of music and of cannon and of bells, 

We bear him out to solemn burial. 

Tell me thy passion : words will bring surcease, 

Bearing thy pain upon their tide away. 

Ah tragic death ! that drawest me by thy force 
Of very terror into speech of thee ! 

0 Dead at height of living, in the thrill 
Of victory completer by its cost! 

0 Fallen in the hour of triumph pure 
That saw my banner, still full high advanced. 

Rise through the cloud of battle, o’er the ground 
Which felt its first descending,—saw it shine 


J liUA llA M LINCOLN. 


Unblemished, hailed by thousand-throated roar 
Of cannon, song, and shout, outsounding far 
The din of recent fight and flying foes ! 

0 Smitten cruelly from the vision high 
Of Restoration, rising on thy hope— 

Torn from the playful respite given of Joy 
To summon quicker strength for sterner tasks 
In wise forethought of building States anew! 

0 Slain within the sheltering quiet of Love, 
And in full gaze of gathered citizens— 
Gathered for joyful spectacle, and hurled 
Into thy all-subduing tragedy ! 

The pulsing summer gales are freshenin 
The singing birds are come, the holy sun 


12 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 


Moves northward with reviving beams, my lands 
Unfold their glad savannas, and the hills 
Are breaking into joy of wooded green. 

But me, the summer gales waft only death ; 

The bird-songs thrill with pain ; my sun is set, 
Or hangs in cold eclipse ; and hope of life, 

With joy of summer, vanishes afar 
Down the long seasons that are hid from me. 

0 homely, honest face ! 0 patient eye! 

0 careworn smile, so tender and so true ! 

0 rugged hand, of labor well beknown 
And well beloved, whose grasp was brotherhood 
0 voice of trumpet strength and clarion ring ! 

0 noble thought, true nature’s, skilled to frame 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


13 


Right kingly sentence, with due music armed ! 
0 simple, manly heart, that knew no pride ! 

0 all men’s Friend, in whom all men believed! 
0 steadfast Witness in the People’s cause ! 
Knight Peerless of the Commons, sworn to do 
Thy raanfullest for men’s equality ! 

Believer strong ! how shall we miss thy faith. 
And mother-wit so plain to common men. 

So keen at argument for common Right, 

0 most a Man that yet has stood for me I 
Who battled foes without and foes within. 

And never lost a single freeman’s due ! 

Who kept me still a Nation—found me half. 
And left me whole,—a home of liberty! 

0 Strength to utmost peril equal! still 


14 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


Thy soul was merciful, and children ran 
Eager to play with thee, nor soon forgot 
The gentle, forceful arms that lifted them. 

0 Wise and Good ! not half I valued thee ! 
True Father of thy people ! all thy thought 
And voice and aspect were paternal. All 
Thy life was freely pledged to one great end. 
And paid at last its purchase. 


0 ye Men ! 

Whatever clime may hold you, or what speech 
Soever veil your thoughts, come mourn with me. 
Still is the Heart whose pulses beat with ours ; 
Who knew that men a greater have in Man, 

And gave to Man devotion,—help to men. 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


15 


No speech he needed to interpret him : 

His soul lay open to all open souls. 

Come, then, from every land, a brother mourn ! 
Again, Plataea and Thermopylae, 

Leuctra, and Marathon, and Salamis, 

Grant me the presence of your glorious dead ! 
And you, ye plains of Asia, that of old. 

Before the hills of Europe saw the light 
Of freemen, loosed your steeds to battle swift. 
And yet resound to the fierce tournament 
Of men who oft have fought, but still are free. 
Send me your sons ! Ye Alpine peaks, that knew 
The steps of Tell, but know not steps of slaves. 
Your children send ! Thou, long lost Italy, 

Whose fountain of ‘perpetual tears has proved 


16 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


Fountain of youth perpetual, giving thee life 
In image new of the imperial time 
When Plebs and Consular together bled 
For freedom, and, despairing, saw the Twain 
White-steeded sweep from dark Regillus’ verge. 
Rolling the foe in wild defeat,—thou too 
Mingle thy heart with mine! Ye sloping hills 
Of Volga and the Danube, that have sighed 
In echo to the fields of Hungary, 

Where freeman mourned a conflict vain, your tribes 
Come, Avith the better wisdom pity ivrought. 

Whereby a realm of serfs were raised to men ! 

And come from your glen-highlands, Scottish Plaids, 
Mindful of Flodden Field and Bannock Burn, 

Or Holy Covenant on Drumclog Hill! 


A liliA FI A M TJNCOr.N. 


17 


Join with my heroes who have followed you 
In high devotion,—knowing wounds and cold, 
Prison and hunger, terrors more than sword ! 
Thou, too, upon wdiose front the shadow lies. 

Thou of the first come hither ! Thine he is. 

Not mine alone. What deed for thee he wrought! 
Wise friend, who could in patience still possess 
His soul, nor put thy right in peril, till 
He knew thy sure redemption in the might 
Of a strong People pledged to ransom thee. 

And to maintain thy quarrel to the last: 

Thou wast a slave ; here thou canst w’eep—a man! 

So w^eep together all I summon here ! 

Full seldom comes the crown of martyrdom, 
Although our cause wins danger. Let me know 


18 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


That in mj loss I am not quite alone. 

Again, thou Friend, who didst support my time 

Of early darkness, yielding sympathy 

That halted not this side of wounds and death. 

Give me that heart chivalric, sorrow-trained. 

Which beats, through all thy changes, with the flow 
Lent of Domremy and its Martyr-Maid. 

And thou, 0 Mother harsh, whose breath of life 
Is also liberty, at length relent. 

If justice can not win thee to thyself. 

Let pity move thine ancient tenderness. 

Thou of one speech, be likewise of one thought. 

0 leap, warm blood of England ! from whose tide, 
Hampden and Sydney and great Cromwell came. 

Be living once again, brave Saxon truth. 


A BRA HA M LINCOLN. 


19 


And share the glory of our common loss : 
Another hero crowns our English tongue,— 

Not altogether lost, in that he bore 
Brave witness of its mighty spirit,—a man 
Worthy the mother-speech of Liberty I 
0 line of heroes, with its accents born. 

Welcome your peer ! your large hearts linger not 
To own me worthy offspring of the stock 
Immortal that begat you. Mighty Dead ! 

Pride of our Saxon century ! Seaman great. 
And greater Soldier ! saviors of the realm 
Isle-throned, if with truth your Poet sings : 

0 Shaker of the Baltic and the Nile ! 

0 patient Conqueror of Waterloo ! 

Your spirits hail the Twain my laws have bred. 


20 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


Even while they walk the crowded living ways, 
Saviors on rolling sea and shaking field, 

And kin with you, as simple-minded men. 

But here is yet their Greater: welcome him ! 
Soldier in spirit, valorous to death. 

Brave sailor of the pathless civil sea 

Awful with storm and conflict; yet who brought 

Victor his vessel safe to port, and saw. 

For one surpassing moment, rounded home 
In placid harbor, summer sunshine break 
Over the refluent billows’ answering blue. 

And thou, 0 Father of my liberties. 
First in the love and awe of all mankind ! 

Come for a little season from thy rest 


. I BRA HA M LINCOLN. 


21 


In God’s eternal stillness. Give thy peace 
Unutterable to my restlessness ! 

Lend me once more thy matchless sainthood ! Thou, 
Above all others, bearest me on thy heart: 

My sorrow is thy sorrow, in so far 
As mortal woe may touch thy bliss. Be near ! 

And at my hands receive thy kindred Soul. 

For this is he on whom thy Lord and mine 
A burthen laid, if such were possible. 

More weighty than on thee ; he did not shrink. 

But with obedient patience humbly took. 

And bore it as he could to victory. 

Into the glorious company of saints. 

Usher him with all joy ! Thy spirit strong 
Rises with added triumph to be joined 


22 


ABRAJIAM LINCOLN. 


With his in everlasting converse. Peace 
From thy unruffled deep of peace, descends 
Into my desolation, and I hear. 

Not wholly unconsoled, the choral throng 
Afar their welcome lifting, led by thee. 

In spirit I see them move to heavenly rhythm. 
Passing in pure white light, convoying him 
Into the infinite repose of God: 

And from the holy silence, following. 

Falls on my heart one voice : O mourner.^ cease 
lam the Resurrection and the Life, 

And in that voice, 0 Lord most merciful! 
My prayer for help is answered, and for light. 

The wondrous meaning of thy counsel dawns 


A BRA IIA M LINCOLN. 


23 


On me, with rays dissolving all the mists 
Of sorrowing doubt, lie is not dead, but lives! 

Ah ! sacrifice most costly, yet with fruit 
Most gracious also, since I know the seed 
Thou sowest is not quickened except it die ! 

Not sown in weakness is not raised in power. 

So hast Thou made this strange-returning day 
Of Thine own Passion, 0 Lamb of God, once more 
Dark with the theme Thyself didst sanctify 
In sad Judaea, sealing with Thy blood 
The truth how' it is better one should fall 
Rather than all should perish. Thus I bow 
Before Thy judgment, summoned unto life 
Most penitential, with such ransom bought. 

Thus, with persuasion dread. Thou boldest me 


24 


. 1 BRA1IA M LINCOLN. 


To my vocation, slaying fear with awe, 

And planting in me spirit divine to dare. 

And by Thy grace to do, what holy task 
He left within my keeping,—to become 
In truth and deed the Nation of Free Men. 

0 martyred Leader ! not in vain has passed 
Thy being to God: thou wast a living Soul, 

Thou art a quickening Spirit. From the rest 
Thy martyrdom has won thee, comes a power 
Incessant, breathing life into my death. 

Within my secret being speaks the voice, 
Indwelling, having endured celestial change. 
Wherewith thou didst enrich me on that Day 
Of mighty Dedication, bidding me 


A BRA HA ^r LINCOLN. 


20 


Rather myself to consecrate than those 
Whose perfect consecration was—to die. 

I see thee stand above the multitude 
Of living, and, beside the assembled graves. 

In simple words full solemn, give the place 
To memory of heroes, and thyself, 

With all my people, to the truth supreme 
For which they fell. And now above thy tomb 
And theirs, before thy God and theirs and mine, 
I bow my head, and lift my soul, and swear 
Unto the Sovereign Truth to be devote: 

With help of Heaven, to purify myself. 

Till holy Law shall give me liberty ; 

To use wise counsel, doing no despite. 

But girding me for battle, if the need 


26 


ABHAH.Uf LIXCOLX. 


Shall summon, yieldincr to mvself no rest, 
Xor respite to the oppressor, till the Dream 
That haunts and glorifies the sons of men, 
Be finallv accomplished in the earth. 


THE END. 


^W60 


St. Lotus: 'Written April 20. 





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